Anto-Angeles

During my program's orientation in Santiago, us volunteers were told (perhaps more accurately, "warned") of the warmth of the Chilean people. Women and men greet with a kiss on the right cheek, for instance. The bubble of personal space we observe in the States is much smaller here. It is considered rude if you enter a room and don't greet those in your immediate vicinity with an "Hola" and a "Como estas?" (even if you saw them an hour before, in the same room. The teacher's lounge, for example…) Americans are often perceived as very distant and cold. Stiff. With our handshakes and rapid walking pace. Even our strict sense of time is off-putting. Chileans are often running behind schedule because they consider it rude to cut a conversation short just because of a godforsaken clock. What freaks, Americans! In a hurry all the time! Chasing the dollar! Always checking their clocks!

But this is not the case in Antofagasta.

Antofagasta is a city of 300,000 people. And it's become clear to me over the last couple of weeks that it shares some similarities to Los Angeles. For one, the traffic. There are A LOT of cars in this city. The streets in the mornings and afternoons are jam-packed with cars and micros and colectivos. And the car is definitely a power symbol as I've seen BMWs and Mustangs crawling around as well as BIG trucks and little cars.

But while I was walking around one night recently, near the Center in the late evening, I realized that perhaps the thing that Antofagastans share in common with the Los Angelinos THE MOST is this: City Fatigue. Most everyone hates it here. I mean, yes, it is home and of course they love their home but all the people, all the traffic, and it's so fucking expensive! This love/hate relationship to the city is all too familiar to me. It's exciting at first (there's so much happening! so many people! so much to do!) but wears thin after a while (please, everyone, go away. all I want is a parking space and to sit on my couch, beer in hand.).

So the people in Antofagasta are somewhat lacking in the rumored Chilean warmth department (though I get warmth in spades from my amazing family. And the few 20-somethings Chileans I have met have been ceaselessly kind. So, not all of Antofagasta is lacking). But, no matter. I get it. It sucks living in an overpopulated, expensive, traffic-ridden urban area. I get it, Antofagasta. Let's be friends.

And by "friends" I mean, let me join your tired, huddled masses. It's cold and we could learn a thing or two from penguins. Warmth in numbers. Now please stop staring at me like I'm from outerspace.

My Daily Morning Dance

Water is scarce in the desert. This fact has been both very obvious to me (growing up in the Mojave desert of California) and very abstract (never has it's scarcity affected my daily life; if I needed water, well, there's the tap, the bottle, the dispenser on the fridge, etc.). But every morning in Antofagasta, I'm reminded of this simple fact of life. Shocked by it even.

Not just water, but fruits, vegetables, wine, certain types of meat - all imports - are expensive in Antofagasta. It's a pretty expensive city in general, mainly because the copper mining in the region is so gangbusters that there's just a lot of money (plata) in people's pockets. This really sucks for a volunteer on a once-every-two-months stipend of $120 USD. But I digress.

Water is too be used sparingly in the city because it is so expensive. It's not uncommon to see toilets in public restrooms with stale pee in the bowl. It's a waste of a flush, you know? Unlike the U.S., where we have an abundance of all kinds of resources (and where I also feel like we waste A LOT), Chile has no choice but to conserve it's resources. Waste not, because you don't have all that much to begin with.

Oh, yes, but my mornings. I have to wake up at 6:30 every day so that I can make it to my bus stop by 7:20. After I manage to get my feet out from under the warmth of my bedsheets, I walk downstairs to the califone (hot water heater) turn it on and run the kitchen faucet to pre-heat the water (otherwise it takes a good 15 minutes for the water to get hot in the shower). And once I'm finally in the shower - well, here's the rub. The califone has two modes: Make Water Hotter OR Off. It cannot sustain an average level of warmth. Once it's turned on it can only make the water hotter and hotter. And when you try and add some cold water to balance it out, the califone seems to think that you no longer want ANY hot water at all and simply shuts off. So the two extremes of my shower are scalding hot or freezing cold.

My first morning in Antofagasta, I simply didn't realize the califone had to be turned on and I experienced one of the coldest showers of my adult life (to give you an idea of how cold, at night it has gotten as low as 6℃ [or 42℉]). That was followed by the second coldest shower of my life the next morning when I accidentally turned the califone OFF instead of ON. D'oh. My current system involves catching the 20 second sweet spot when the califone is just kicking in and the water is going from freezing to scalding. It's a two-phase process as the first sweet spot gives me enough time to soap - then I have to turn on the cold water, go back to zero and start over. The second sweet spot is enough time to shampoo/condition. As Kanye would say, #ITSAPROCESS. But it'll do for the next 5 months.

…Yeah, it'll do.

Toilet Talk

(Some rough language follows so if you're averse to that sort of thing… I don't know, read it, and then get shocked or embarrassed or whatever.)

I have taken some mean poops since arriving in Chile 3 weeks ago. Food is different down here. The water is different down here. I'm drinking the tap water because I like free water.* But there's different bacteria… I don't know, I'm not going to pretend like I know what I'm talking about, I'm just saying that the body must adjust to the new diet. And that takes time. And a lot of mean poops, apparently.

Did you know that in Chile, and many other developing or less affluent countries than the U.S. of A., you're not supposed to throw away your toilet paper in the toilet? Their pipes can't support it or something (perhaps I should do some research into the plumbing practices in South America to better understand this situation). So every bathroom (public or otherwise) comes equipped with a little trashcan for all your shit-stained T.P. Convenient. I still forget sometimes. I've had friends who have been brave enough to retrieve their toilet paper from pee-filled bowls when they forget, but me… I'm just to lazy or urine-fearing to do that.

But my whole diet has had to go through a transformation down here. For instance, THE EATING SCHEDULE: The Chilean meal schedule features a light breakfast of pan (bread), buttered with a slice of pork (that more closely resembles spam in my school's case) and tea. They drink a lot of tea here. And put a lot of sugar in their tea. This exacerbates their already rapid pace of speaking making it even more difficult for me to understand them after tea time. Almuerzo (lunch) is the biggest meal. It usually involves salad, more pan and some potatoes or pasta and some meat. There's also a lot of mayonnaise. Kind of dry and a little boring, but the big portions at lunch are certainly filling. Then dinner is essentially the same as breakfast: pan with butter, pork slice and cheese. And tea, of course. Chileans are not big on spicy food I've come to realize. And as an addict of taco trucks back in the States I was kind of disappointed by this. I need some spice, some Tapatío, something. But the bread is plentiful and delicious, so that's something. At least I can fill up on carbs.

During our first week of orientation in Santiago, when I went out for lunch I found two signature dishes at most restaurants: the Completo (a hot dog with tomatoes, avocado and mayonnaise) and the Churrasco (a burger-like sandwich with meat, tomatoes, avocado and mayonnaise). I think that the meat in Churrasco is lamb but I'm really not sure at all. Over the course of that first week my stomach fought with each piece of meat I presented it with. And expelled each with fervor. The meat is good going down, don't get me wrong (obviously depends on the restaurant, too), but the body simply has to adjust from all the fake nutrients and fake taste injected into food in America. It's a process of acclimation. And something I was determined to get through in that first week.

I was brazen and stupid my first two nights in Santiago. Here is an unfortunate admission: My second night in Santiago - my second night in Chile - I shit myself. THE SCENE: Our group was in between bars and I had drank too much beer and needed to relieve myself pronto. So I found an alley and a dark corner while my friend's waited on the main street. The beer was giving me gas and I tried to pass a bit of fragrance into the alley. Instead, I got poop in my pants. I zipped myself up went to the nearest bar, found the bathroom, locked the door, and stared at myself for a good 5 minutes. This is what I said:

"Fuck. You. You Fuck. You Fucking Fuck. How old are you? What is your fucking problem? You're a fucking moron. How do you expect to survive in a foreign country where you don't know the language, where you stick out like a bruised and bloody thumb and you're shitting yourself like a goddamn baby in the street?! Get your shit together. Yeah, literally, asshole. You dumb piece of shit. And stop peeing in public you fucking idiot. You're going to get beat up, robbed, OR WORSE, some cute girls going to see you. I think getting beat up would be the OR WORSE in that lineup. FINE. JUST GET IT TOGETHER, OK? Okay, okay…"

After I was finished with the schizophrenic self-loathing, I removed my shit filled undergarments and threw them in the T.P. trash can.

Well, I wasn't going to flush them, was I?


*My first night in Santiago a bunch of us volunteers went out drinking on Avenida Brasil. After a couple of big bottles of Escudo (local lager) at a place called GOODDRINKS I left the group and went up to the bar in hopes of getting some tap water. My first couple of days in Santiago featured some really awkward beginner Spanish. Not the worst of which was when I stepped up to this mostly empty bar and asked for some "agua libre, por favor." "Libre" is "free" in the sense that America is bringing "Freedom" to the Middle East. "Free" like personal freedom and not "free" meaning "for no money." That would be "gratis". So at the time, buzzed and happy as I was, my repeated asking for "agua libre" was met with a lot of confusion and laughter from the genial Chilean bartenders of GOODDRINKS. Eventually I got my tap water. But what they must of thought when this fucking gringo kept repeating "freedom water, please!" at them over and over again. I think they got a kick out of it. Or at the very least I reinforced American Ignorance for them. Win-win, I guess.

Lider: America-Mart

We did it! We finally did it! Hooray America! Years after we tried to prop up a dictatorship to defeat Socialism in Chile, we're finally back on track. We've got a Wal-Mart in Antofagasta! Sweet sweet capitalist consumerism! Happy 4th!

(FULL DISCLOSURE: I come here (Lider, as it's known but it's clearly a Wal-Mart clone) about once a week because it's some of the cheapest prices for wine and... other stuff, I'm sure, in an already needlessly expensive city. Hard to argue with a system that works. And the citizens of Antofagasta come here in droves. Last Monday (a holiday) my host mother and sister went to buy some groceries and the place was PACKED and entirely sold out of eggs. There's an entire aisle in this place for eggs. And they were SOLD OUT. All hail the free market.)

The Dog-Girl Is Not A Bitch

Mi familia here in Antofagasta is amazing. The way my program works is we are assigned to a family in our respective cities and they're supposed to house us, feed us and look after our well-being so that we can at least make it to class to teach our "well-planned" lessons on time and in good health. My situation is somewhat unique. My host mother - I'll call her Maria for simplicity's sake - actually works in Santiago during the week so she has to fly out of Antofagasta at 5:00AM every Monday morning, work during the week (she stays in a hotel that her company pays for) and then fly back Friday night. It sounds hellish but she doesn't complain much. Last Friday night her mother (mi abuela) and a friend came by around 10:00, had tacos, smoked cigarettes and chatted til after 1:00AM in the backyard. I joined for a bit and tried to keep up in the conversation but it was too quick for me. I got a laugh with a bit of Chilean slang (they love it when the gringos catch on) and then followed up with a dumb aside/joke but apparently the word "punchline" doesn't translate. The awkward silence that followed got a big pity laugh and a couple of "Oh, Daren"s. I took them without shame.

More to the point, during the week, it is just me and her daughter - Patricia, again for simplicity - a dancer, who had to leave her studies at University last year when she tore a muscle in her leg. Patricia is incredibly sweet and patient with my horrendous Spanish and I have dinner with her and her pololo (boyfriend) most nights and we talk about politics, 90s music and rental rates in the States. It's good practice. And whenever we hit a road block Carlos is there with Google translate on his phone to clear up any confusion. Oh shit, Carlos is his real name. Well, I guess that's as simple as it gets.

My situation allows me a lot of independence and freedom that I don't feel many of the other volunteers have the opportunity to enjoy. I am grateful. You see, I'm a very solitudinous (not a word) person and I need my alone time. Not too much of it, mind you. It's a delicate balance. Depression is always right around the corner. But I'm on a good wave right now. Also, the time that I spend with mi familia is wonderful and fills me with warm fuzzies. POR EJEMPLO:

Last weekend was my host mother's sister's birthday. My host mother and I grabbed a micro to the north of city in the evening. Lisa (my host mother's sister) and her husband and her two daughters and her little gordito baby boy live in a neighborhood comprised mostly of carabineros (police - pacos if you want to get slang-y about it). When we arrived the whole family was sitting around the table. Abuelo, abuela, daughters, et al. Son-in-law was on the couch watching TV. After extending my "Hola"s around the table (complete with the Greeting Cheek-Kiss) a sharp noise came tumbling down the stairs. The grandchildren.

To back up momentarily, Eddie, 10 - my host mom's youngest sister's son - and I are cool. My first Sunday in Antofagasta we went over to mi abuela's (where said youngest sister and son live) and we played some Mario games on his Wii. My spanish may be bad but my video games skillz are much worse. Still, Eddie was patient and friendly and laughed hard whenever I lost the Yoshi because I did something stupid.

Then the temblor down the stairs. I saw Eddie first and we exchanged a friendly fist bump. But then, I came face-to-face with a 8-year-old girl in dog makeup. She looked at me, well, less looked and more squinted suspiciously. She said something in Spanish I didn't quite catch. But trying to make light of the situation I said, "Oh! Quien es el perro?" My mind still in self-correcting Spanish mode, I adjusted the gender, "I mean, la perra." A sharp silence. It didn't last long but there were a couple of voices who tapped in from the nearby table, "El perrito. No es perra. El perrito." Although no one brought it up afterwards, I think in that moment I called this 8-year-old girl in dog makeup that I was meeting for the first time, in her house, in front of her entire family, a "bitch."

Maculine-Feminine-Innocent-Dumb. The first of many faux-pas, I can assure you.

But the dinner that followed was filled with warmth and smiles and delicious peanut butter and jelly Chocolate cake. So my embarrassment soon faded. And I got lost in the rhythms of Chilean Spanish, that I'm still trying to make sense of. Through trial-and-error, and much offense, I will prevail. Right now I'm just enjoying the sounds. And the laughs - especially those of mi abuela. I have a sneaking suspicion that she's hilarious. But I have no real evidence of this quite yet. In due time.

Intro De Flow

I arrived in Antofagasta on June 24th - a Sunday - after a 19 hour bus ride from Santiago. The entertainment on the bus consisted of several American films: Zookeeper, Something Borrowed, Cowboys & Aliens and finally Source Code. I slept a lot. Waking up only to see the vast desert landscapes shift hues every couple of hours. But as we drove up into Antofagasta, I was in awe. "Comfortable" may actually be a better word. "I can do this," I said to myself multiple times. "I can do this." And then, "This is going to be easy."

Antofagasta is a city on the sea. It's beautiful to behold from the coast. It has two malls. Beautiful and bountiful graffiti. A complicated public transportation system ("micros" y "colectivos" but more on that later). A couple different universities. A futbol stadium. Bars. Couple of cafes. Couple of parks. And a helluva lot of people. And, not dissimilar to my "home", Los Angeles, way too many cars.

But these are all first impressions. I'll be picking this city apart, piece by piece, at this address for the next 5 months. Short reflections, photos of the amazing graffiti, and whatever else I can think of. Watch Darn struggle. Watch Darn do. Watch Darn learn life lessons and decry the greed and over-consumption of the American system. With humor and love, of course. Because I wouldn't be able to come down here without that system. My value as a native English speaker wouldn't exist without that system. Watch Darn contradict.

Nos vemos,
-Darn